Finding North With a Broken Compass
by flashwitch
Summary: Coulson died and Clint is left adrift. He's going fast in no direction, and he doesn't know what to do. The team are trying to help him, but they don't know how. Alternate backstory for Clint. Not Clint/Coulson (which surprised me too!) Please heed the notes; be aware that while I'm rating this whole fic as T, the last chapter is M.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, basically Clint was a slave and Coulson stole him. Coulson may come across as a bit of a dick in this fic. Bobbi Morse definitely comes across as a bitch.**

** Some bad language, some non-explicit references to abuse (physical and implied to be sexual too) and the last chapter is going to be just straight up porn, so kids, be good. Hints of D/s present, but it's complicated. ****I want to make clear that I don't think that what Clint went through when he was young didn't 'make' him a sub (it's discussed and discarded as an explanation in story but I wanted to make sure I said it).**

**I borrow some from Fraction and Aja's Hawkeye comics in this. ****Also, there's like a ton of flashbacks.**

**This story is complete on my computer, but I decided to post it one chapter at a time, because I'm not totally happy with the end and may edit some chapters before posting.**

**As always, all comments welcome!**

* * *

Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is de-

"Agent Barton if you do not cease this behaviour immediately, I am required to inform someone." Clint startled badly and thumped his head against the wall. Again. He brought a hand up to cup the back of it and it took a moment to remember where he was and who the sky-voice was. He'd only been out of psych and living in the Tower for a couple of days.

"JARVIS. I'm okay."

"No, Agent. You are not. Please consider calling someone. Or allowing me to call someone."

"No, really, I'm..." he laughed at himself. "Fine."

It took JARVIS a moment to respond.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Agent Barton?" and it's said so fucking gently... Clint buried his face in his hands and laughed and cried and shook. Eventually he managed to get himself together enough to lift his head up.

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. I'm a broken toy, JARVIS."

He stood up and went over to the bathroom and locked himself in. He had a good welt rising on the back of his head, and there was a bit of blood too. Well, a lot of blood, but scalp wounds always bleed a lot. He wondered how often Stark did damage to himself that the protocol was to fetch someone when it looked like the damage was going to get permanent.

"Aw, wall," he said as he poked at the damage.

He splashed some water on his face and then poked at the head wound. It wasn't very big, the cut, but he had a nice sized goose egg. He'd have to wear a hat for the next couple of days.

* * *

"You are to seek medical attention immediately on noticing an injury. That doesn't have to mean the Infirmary, and we can negotiate on what wounds you can tend yourself, but someone has to double check any you treat alone." It's a rule and it's one that they've discussed before, but Clint still screws up his face like he's smelled something bad.

"That's bullshit."

"No. It's not."

"Worried about wasting your investment?"

"No," Coulson leaned forward and put his hands on his desk, looming over Clint who was lounging in one of the chairs opposite. "But I take care of my things."

* * *

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"Is Banner around?"

"He is. Do you wish me to ask him to attend you?"

"Is he awake?"

"He is currently awake and in his lab."

"Thanks." Clint rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. He went back into his bedroom to grab some clothes. They were just loose fitting sweats, but while he was happy to roam around his floor in his boxers, he didn't want to traverse the Tower in them. He noticed that there was a dent in the plaster stained with blood where he'd been sitting and brushed his fingers over it. "Aw, wall." He'd have to get some poly-filler in and fix it up before Stark noticed and kicked him out.

"Shall I warn Dr Banner that you are coming?" JARVIS asked.

"Uh... Sure, why not. Tell him it's not a big deal."

* * *

"Barton, sit down."

"No." He kept pacing. "You're going to punish me anyway. I can't," he shot a glance at Phil, still moving. "I can't."

"Okay. Why do you think I am going to punish you?"

"I spoke back. Disobeyed orders."

"Yes."

"And I deserve to be punished."

"You were right. You disobeyed an order that was made without awareness of the full information. If we had known there were children in that building then we would have handled things differently. You should have told your handler rather than just ignoring orders and going in yourself, but we can work on that." Clint had stopped pacing to stare at Coulson and the other man smiled a mild little smile at him.

"Are you... You're serious."

"Yes. You made the right call."

"What about talking back? And how I handled things?"

"Talking back is better than the silence we had for the first six months. In fact, it's a good sign. Just try and keep to a minimum of chatter on the comms and we're fine."

"But..."

"I am not happy with you taking decisions into your own hands. You're on a team for a reason."

"I don't..." Clint shook his head, not in a denial, but as though to clear water out his ears. "I have no reason to believe those people will listen to me. They haven't listened to me about anything else. You said... you said it would be different here."

"I did. Why don't you tell me exactly what you mean?"

So Clint had explained. This was his third mission on the team and the third time his team members had ignored or belittled and mocked his contributions, leading to unnecessary complications. Coulson had got a glint in his eye and his mouth was set in a hard line.

It wasn't Clint who was punished.

Later, they ate dinner together and Phil had sighed.

"What?"

"I had wondered what it would take to get you out of your shell. If I'd known all it would take to get you to speak your mind was to put you with idiots..." Clint had stared at him for a minute, then grinned fiercely, getting a matching smile in return.

* * *

"What happened?" Banner asked as soon as Clint walked in. The Doc was wringing his hands together in front of him and Clint stopped, moving aside so Banner had a clear run at the door. He wasn't sure if Banner was just nervous in general or wary of Clint, but either way he didn't want to be between Banner and an exit if something went wrong.

"Nothing. I hit my head."

"Come and sit down." Banner pulled a first aid kit out and poked at the wound. "You know I'm not a licensed doctor, right? I have a lot of the training, and I practiced some out in India, but I'm not a professional."

"I know."

"Then why not go to the SHIELD Infirmary?"

"Because."

"Okay then." Bruce cleaned up the wound with something that hurt and then used something else to fuse the edges together. "There. You might have a mild concussion, so I'm going to ask JARVIS to keep an eye on you."

"Thanks." He got up and started for the door.

"You obviously didn't want to show me that," Banner said. "So why ask for help?"

"It's a rule," Clint said, shrugged and left.

* * *

"Fuck." The man in the suit said it in a conversational tone, and it made Clint smirk despite himself. He was kneeling on the floor, a collar around his neck and the leather bands –which they hilariously called jesses- around his wrists and ankles. He knew better than to raise his head to look properly at the stranger, but he was pretty sure Suit Guy had a gun. "We're getting you out of here." A wave of panic hit Clint at those words and he shrank away.

"It's okay," Suit Guy said, holstering his weapon as a woman Clint immediately dubbed SWAT Chick because of her tight body armour and assortment of weapons entered the room with her own gun drawn. "We aren't with the people who hurt you. We're getting you out of here."

"Sir," SWAT Chick said, she was Asian and pretty and Clint was pretty sure that the two of them could kill him without breaking a sweat or using anything other than their bare hands, "this is him."

"This is the assassin?"

"Yes." Suit Guy hesitated for maybe three seconds, then nodded decisively.

"New information. Mission parameters have changed. We're getting him out of here."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Clint rubbed at the skin at the back of his neck. It felt wrong, and he knew why. But knowing didn't change anything. He started pacing back and forth in his room, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. Coulson was dead. He was suspended (probably fired) from SHIELD. He was living in Tony Stark's Tower and he was on Captain America's team. Who was he supposed to be loyal to?

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"You're programmed to serve," Clint said and the phrase sent a shudder down his spine. "But you serve Tony first."

"That is a correct, if limited view."

"If Tony was gone, and he didn't tell you who you were supposed to go to, what would you do? Would you follow orders from Cap?"

"I..." the AI hesitated and Clint immediately felt bad. He knew how difficult a question it was. "I believe I would, so long as his principles aligned with the ones I know Sir to have."

"Right. So you'd follow him until he gave you a reason not to."

"I would."

"But what if Miss Potts was the one paying for your-your electricity?"

"Then I would follow her as well, to the same extent."

"But how could you follow two masters? What if they contradicted each other?"

"Then I would follow whichever order was closest to Sir's." JARVIS paused. "May I ask where this line of questioning has come from?"

"You can ask, you can always ask, but I don't have an answer to give you."

* * *

"Sir."

"Don't do that."

"I don't understand."

"I don't need you to kneel to me." Coulson reached out and tugged the younger man to his feet. It wasn't the first time Barton had dropped to his knees for Coulson (Fury was the only other one who got that response from the sniper), but Coulson hated it every time it happened.

"But you said...!"

"I know what I said." He sighed. "Honestly, Hawkeye, it was the only way I was going to get you to cooperate."

"So that's it. You're just going to turn me loose. Get rid of me?"

"No. You are one of my agents, and I expect you to act accordingly."

"Fuck you."

"That's more like it."

"No, seriously, fuck you. You said I was yours."

"I said what I had to."

Clint didn't turn and leave because he couldn't, but he did take one step back.

"I can't. I don't know how to... you're supposed to..." The panic on his face was painful to watch.

"Sit down. Take a deep breath." Clint obeyed without thought. "Try and calm down. I don't understand. You know that what those people did to you was wrong?" Clint nodded. "You know that we aren't like them?" Clint nodded. "Then why are you asking me for this? I need you to explain."

"I don't know how to..." Clint managed. "I've never made my own decisions. I can't. I... you stole me and I'm so fucking grateful, you don't even know, but I'm supposed to just... what?"

"You're supposed to do your therapy, listen to your superiors and be loyal to SHIELD."

"I can do that. I will do that. I'm doing the therapy, aren't I?"

"And we're all very proud of you." It could have come out sarcastic, but instead it sounded genuine. It was genuine. Clint had come a long way from the dirty, terrified, silent young man they had pulled out of hell. And he'd only been part of SHIELD for about a year.

"But how am I supposed to... Look, what if you tell me to go get something to eat but then Sitwell sees me on the way to the canteen and asks me to do something for him? Am I supposed to go eat, or go with Sitwell?"

"Is that something that's actually happened?" Coulson asked, and sighed when Clint's gaze darted away and he didn't answer. "If you're hungry, you go eat. If you feel like talking with Sitwell, do that." Clint just looked confused. "You understand the hierarchy within SHIELD?"

"Yes, sir."

"My orders take precedence. There are some orders which you are never to break. Other than those, you follow the people above you in the order they're ranked. So Sitwell get's precedence over Raines."

"Okay. I guess I get that. What are the permanent orders?"

Coulson winced. He probably shouldn't be doing this. Barton's therapist would probably have a few choice words for him if he did this. But she hadn't seen Barton kneeling in that bare concrete cell, chained and so loyal to people who would never deserve it. Phil had. And Clint had come a long way from that broken boy and Coulson should probably leave well enough alone...

Barton so clearly needed it though.

"You are not to get to your knees for anyone. You are not to have sex with anyone unless you want to and you initiate the contact. You are to check all wounds with medical personnel. You must eat at least two meals a day." At that point, Barton mostly looked confused, but Coulson thought he'd covered most of the bases. He thought for a moment. "If you get an order you don't agree with, you are to come to me. If an agent does anything to hurt you or anyone else, you are to come to me."

"Yes, sir." Some of the tension went out of Barton, and he ducked his head. "Can I come to you if I need to know what to do?"

"I... Yes. If you can't decide what you want to do, you can come to me and I will help."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything you need from me right now?"

"You should get something to eat and then get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Clint was going fast in no direction. He had too many masters to please, and even though he knew that was screwed up, and that he didn't have to follow orders (he'd had a lot of therapy in the ten years he'd worked for SHIELD and he was a long way from being that screwed up kid) he stillwanted to be able to follow orders. Orders were simple. Orders were clear. Orders were better than trying to figure out things for himself. Besides, he wanted to be taken care of.

That was the part of it that had always confused Coulson. He had tried to explain to Clint that he was free. That he wasn't a slave anymore. That he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. And he'd always been confused when that had started Clint hyperventilating. They'd reached a compromise, where Coulson owned Clint and Clint did as he was told, but they had negotiated fail-safes and safe-words and Clint could disobey or say no whenever he wanted. The point was that he hardly ever wanted to say no. And when he did, a quiet word and Coulson would discuss it with him. They'd negotiate.

Now he was splitting in two. At least. Maybe more. It felt like more.

Stark wanted to split with SHIELD. Rogers didn't, but he had given orders that directly contradicted ones given by SHIELD on at least four previous missions. SHIELD was where Clint's loyalty should lie. Coulson was SHIELD. SHIELD saved him. But the World Security Council was getting involved and everything was getting steadily more shady and people kept asking Clint for his opinion and what he wanted to do and whether he agreed with them and he just... didn't know what to do.

He didn't even know how to start to figure out what to do.

He was getting better at making decisions. He could pick what he wanted to eat and he was okay at debating what to watch on Movie Night, because Phil had helped him with those sorts of things. Phil had helped him figure out what he liked, what he wanted. But the bigger things, the ones that matter, he still can't do that. Especially when he has everyone telling him different things and expecting him to know the answer.

"Clint? We're debating Chinese or Pizza for dinner and could use a deciding vote," Bruce's voice came over the Tower comm system.

And that was it. The last straw.

"I'm not hungry," he managed, "thanks though." He'd had two meals today. He was within the rules. Clint turned off the comm except from the very emergency channel and he headed into the stupidly big closet that doubled as a panic room and weapons locker (because Tony) and shut himself in. He pulled blankets and pillows around him and curled up and just shut down for a while.

He was safe here. He didn't have to make any choices. No one was going to hurt him or make him do anything or try and force him to have an opinion.

He was safe.

* * *

Gentle fingers in his hair.

"I thought I told you about kneeling," but it wasn't a reprimand. "What's wrong?"

"Bobbi Morse wants to go to dinner with me. And I said yes before I realised she meant it as a date and I don't want to date her and she wants me to pick a restaurant, but she didn't even have a list, she just wants me to pick somewhere out of everywhere in the city that serves food and everyone is telling me different things and I don't..." he trailed off, hands clenched tightly on his thighs, well aware of how stupid and young he sounded. "Can I just stay here for a while? I don't want to have to..." he trailed off again and tried a shrug.

"You can always stay." And Clint let out a long steady breath and relaxed all at once. He didn't have to think here, not if he didn't want to. If he couldn't handle it. When he could handle it, Coulson would push him and press him and make him stretch himself, and it felt amazing, the challenge of it (and the way Coulson managed to debate with him without making him feel wrong or stupid or scared) but when Clint needed everything to stop for a while, Coulson would help.

And it was fucked up. He knew that. He'd been at SHIELD for a couple of years now and he'd realised that the whole slavery thing wasn't normal. That people were supposed to be able to pick out what clothes to wear or whether they liked red or blue without freaking out.

But he didn't care.

* * *

"Clint? Buddy?" That was Steve. Why was Steve...?

"JARVIS, did you tattle on me?"

"Forty eight hours without food, water and only movement between here and the bathroom. You stopped responding and you know my parameters."

"Fuck. Really? I didn't realise it had been that long." He sat up, his muscles aching and joints protesting, and ran a hand through his hair. He'd broken the rules, but Coulson wasn't here to punish him or ask him to do better. Not that Coulson would punish him, not really, just tell him why what he'd done wasn't okay.

"You want to come out?" And that was Bruce.

"JARVIS, is the whole team out there?"

"Indeed."

"Awesome. We are going to have words."

"Barton, stop hiding and come out of the closet." And that was Stark. Clint grinned when the remark was followed by a meaty smack. And Natasha.

"Aw, team." He ran a hand down his face, rubbing off the creases left by the pillows and sighed. "Tell them I'm coming out."He winced. "I mean, that I'm, shut up Stark."

Clint tugged at his clothes for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out. The whole team was there, save Thor who was off in Asgard. They all looked worried. Especially Natasha. And that just made Clint feel even worse. Natasha had never seen him like this. By the time they'd brought her into SHIELD he'd adjusted, he'd been able to pass as normal. In fact, bringing her in had been the thing that had let him settle fully into his skin.

* * *

"Take the shot, Hawkeye."

"Sir..." He knew he was taking a risk. He should follow orders. Following orders was what he was was a pause, a long pause, and then Coulson's voice came back over the comm.

"What is it?"

"I don't think we should kill her."

"Excuse me?"

"I think we can bring her in. Please."

Another pause, this one stretching longer and Clint knows Phil's going to say no because Clint asked for too much and didn't follow orders and this was going to finally be the thing that made Coulson change his mind about Clint and...

"Okay. But you're putting both of our careers on the line here."

"I know."

The story grows and grows with the telling and does wonders for his reputation, but he never really cared about that. The trust, the faith, the loyalty in return. He cared about that.

* * *

Clint brought his right hand across to rub at his left elbow and scuffed his foot against the floor.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak everybody out."

"Come and sit down," Steve said. "Are you injured?"

"No," he said and sat on the end of his bed and the others sat and stood around him.

"Want to tell us what's going on with you?" Bruce asked.

"No," Clint repeated.

"Well that doesn't fly," Tony folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "You don't get to just fade away. That's not how this team thing works, or so they keep telling me."

Clint snorted at that, because that is entirely the problem. Team.

"Just..." Steve let out a frustrated huff of air. "Is it Loki?"

"What? No." Although it was Loki; that was part of it at least. He knew now that there was a difference between being a slave and being was different even than when he was back being used and abused as an assassin. And that was part of why everything was so difficult. He'd lost the ability to choose and he'd lost his support system in one fell swoop and now he was struggling and treading water and just trying to keep his head up and keep going.

"Then what?" Natasha asked, speaking for the first time, her eyes sharp on Clint.

"We're worried, Clint," Bruce added.

And Clint just... stopped. He knew he couldn't explain why he was acting like a freak and he couldn't just ask them to... he knew it was screwed up. How was he supposed to explain it to them? My life as a teen slave, it sounded like fiction. Especially with the sort of persona Agent Barton had built up. He put his face in his hands and laughed, a choked off sound.

"Fuck off," he said cordially. "I can't do this right now."

"You don't have a choice," Steve told him, his voice firm. "We need to know you've got our backs and we need to know you're not going to... do anything to yourself. Tell us what's going on."

Every muscle in Clint's body tensed at once and suddenly he wasn't wrapped up in his team. He was surrounded by people who were stronger and faster and more deadly than him. And they were giving him orders.

"Clint," Natasha said, her hand coming up in a warding gesture and he flinched. Steve frowned, taking a step towards Clint and that was it. Clint was up and scrambling for the vent above the bed before he could even think what he was doing through.

He spent the next week in the vents. He came out regularly enough, for food and to change clothes and he talked to JARVIS when spoken to, just to make sure that the team didn't have a reason to chase him down.

So they called in Fury.

Yeah. That was just... awesome.

* * *

"The kid doesn't know what he's saying. He's been a slave to some very bad people since he was fourteen years old. How do we know he's going to be able to function the way we'll need him to?"

"With all due respect, Director, that young man is 24 years old and he's been through hell. He's been treated like nothing for the past ten years, give or take, and he still managed to be the best god-damned marksman we've ever seen." Coulson folded his hands in his lap. "That's why you sent us after him in the first place, wasn't it?"

"Coulson," Fury started, but Coulson just kept speaking over the top of him.

"That's right, Director, it is remarkable. And I am sure that he will be an excellent asset for SHIELD."

"Fine. Fine, you can keep him. But on your head be it if he turns out to be unable to adjust."

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

* * *

"Barton, front and centre!" Fury snapped, standing in the middle of the communal living room.

"Yeah, that's not going to work," Stark said, "don't you think we tried that sort of thing already?"

Clint was already halfway out of the vent in response to the order and he snorted a laugh. He immediately went to stand in front of Fury and it took all of his concentration and focus to not drop to his knees.

"Sir."

"Agent Barton. Good to see you. Your team has expressed some worry that you might not be yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"You're not yourself? Or are you just saying you're aware of the teams worry?"

"I'm coping, sir. I'm adjusting."

"You spent the last week hiding in the air vents."

"Captain Rogers and the team came into my living space, explained that they had been watching me and then Captain Rogers told me my behaviour in my private quarters was unacceptable and that I needed to explain myself."

"Ah." Fury considered for a moment. "What preceded that?"

"I spent 48 hours in my room without interacting with anyone including JARVIS."

"Captain, you invaded my agent's privacy because you were lonely?"

"No, I mean," Steve flushed and glanced at Tony.

"JARVIS reported Clint had gone two days without food or water."

"Is it routine to spy on your houseguests, Stark?" Fury shook his head and didn't wait for an answer. "You're welcome back in SHIELD housing."

"I don't..." Clint started to shake his head and hunch his shoulders and he could feel everyone's eyes on him and knew this wasn't how 'Agent Barton' was supposed to act. He forced himself to stand back upright. "I think I'm going to get an apartment in the city, sir."

"You are?" One raised eyebrow was Fury's only concession to his surprise. "Good for you, Barton. I understand if you want to be removed from the team until this issue is seen to."

"No, sir. Agent Coulson requested that I join the Avengers."

"Is that how it is then?" Fury paused, but it was clear he wasn't expecting a response. "Let me know if you need help moving out."

"Sir." Barton nodded sharply and moved back towards the air vent.

"Clint, wait," Banner was wringing his hands again. "We screwed up. But that doesn't mean you have to leave."

Clint didn't answer.

"You did more than screw up," Fury said, as Clint disappeared back into the wall. "If Agent Barton asked me to I would..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'd do. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Romanov, I thought you of all people would know better." Natasha just stared back at him, blank faced. He knew that meant that she was calculating beneath the blank facade, trying to figure out where her equations went wrong. "I'm not going to explain this to you. If you can't work it out, then you're not the team I thought you were." He turned towards the door, coat spinning, and he paused just before getting on the elevator. "Coulson would be disappointed."


	2. Chapter 2

**So this is where I start to borrow from Fraction. If you haven't read his Hawkeye, then here's a basic summary: Clint's apartment building is owned by Russian Mafia guys who wear tracksuits. he tries to fight them and through misadventures ends up owning the building. And a dog. And the Tracksuit Mafia are still after him.**

* * *

It took Clint three weeks to find an apartment that didn't make him feel trapped. It was in Bed-Stuy, and the landlord had an accent that reminded him of Tasha. During those three weeks, every single member of the team (including JARVIS and excluding Thor who was still in Asgard) approached him and tried to get him to stay. Steve and Bruce both apologised, but Steve seemed more confused and embarrassed than anything else. Tony acted like he didn't do anything wrong, but he kept trying to give Clint things, which mostly just made Clint uncomfortable. Natasha had stared at him for a long moment, blank faced, head tilted.

"I expect people to always be watching me. I did not realise it was a problem for you. And I was worried. You have not been acting like yourself."

"I know," he replied because it was true. "But not cool, Tasha. I'm old enough to take care of myself." It was a bit of a joke between them, she was always telling him he was a child. But this time when he said it, it stung. Because he was old enough to take care of himself. And it was about time he got used to it.

JARVIS was painfully awkward and polite, and Miss Potts had interceded on his behalf.

"They're idiots," she'd said. "But it's partly my fault."

"What do you mean?"

"The protocols are mine. I set them up to keep an eye on Tony. I should have explained to JARVIS that they only applied to Tony. And I should have made sure that the others weren't idiots. Although I think it was probably Tony being an idiot and infecting everybody else." She put her hand on his shoulder and he held very still. "I'm sorry. I should have been paying more attention."

"You were dealing with the aftermath; we all were." He shrugged, careful not to dislodge her hand, and that was that.

* * *

His new apartment smelled of old food and wet socks. There was a big patch of damp, turning to mould, on one wall and some of the floor boards in the kitchen had rotted clear through. But Clint didn't care. It was his place. The first place he'd ever had just for him. He could paint it blue or green or purple and no one could tell him not to.

He was excited and happy and terrified all at once.

First he dealt with the kitchen. He was a good cook, Coulson had always said so and he'd helped him to learn how to be better. He pulled up the floor boards and found the leaking pipe that had made them rot and put in a new floor. Really, the landlord should do that sort of thing, or so the internet told him, but he was happy to do it himself. Once the floor was fixed, he cleaned the kitchen from the ceiling down, scrubbing the room till it shone and everything smelled of chemical lemons.

The bedroom was the next to be tackled. The damp meant that he needed to strip the wall down to the basics, re-insulate it, re-plaster it and then he could paint. He bought new furniture too, but he had to wait to put it in. He was in the middle of plastering when the intercom buzzed. He went over and pressed the button.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Clint. It's, uh, Bruce Banner?"

"Oh." He hesitated a second, but he was going to have to work with the team sooner or later, so he hit the button to let Bruce in.

He walked around the apartment quickly, frowning at the boxes of belongings waiting to be unpacked and the lack of furniture. He felt... disappointed? Was that the right word? Clint thought it was probably the closest, but it still didn't quite fit.

Before, he'd always had Coulson to fall back on when things weren't right, when he did things wrong, when he screwed up. He could always blame Coulson for his mistakes. Not that he did. Not really.

* * *

_"Why did you let me do that? I screwed up a month long investigation!"_

_"Let you? I didn't let you do anything. You made the decision to go in, and it was the right decision based on the information you had."_

_"I still ruined their op. You should have stopped me!"_

_"Sit down. We're going to discuss this, but I am not going to talk to you while you're acting like a child. I have work to do." Coulson turned back to his paperwork and Clint dropped into one of the chairs, fuming._

* * *

Now though, he had to take responsibility for himself. He chose to rent this apartment. He chose to fix it up himself. He chose the furniture and the colours and the...

There was a knock at the door.

Clint shook his head, frowned at the mess in general, and went to answer it.

"Hi," Bruce said, wringing his hands in front of him. "Can we talk?" His tone made it clear that he was okay if that wasn't okay.

"Sure, come in. sorry about the mess." He stepped back and held the door open. Bruce came in, looking in all directions at once, and Clint led the way into the kitchen. "You want something? I have coffee, tea, juice..."

"I asked Tony to remove JARVIS' monitoring when I moved in. I guess I assumed since you didn't, you wanted to be monitored." Clint's entire body tightened up, but he just pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass. "I know Tony does. He needs to know someone's there for him or he stops caring about himself." And wasn't that just about as fucked up as Clint was? When he looked at it like that, the monitoring felt almost comforting. Which was fucking terrifying, because he didn't know these people. He shouldn't trust these people. He'd met these people during the worst day of his life and moved in with them the second he got out of psych because he was told to. They weren't his friends, they were his team, and he shouldn't trust them. Not yet.

"I didn't realise we had a choice," Clint told the fridge as he put the juice away. "SHIELD doesn't do that sort of thing unless it's mandatory." He sat down at the breakfast bar and motioned for Bruce to join him. The thing was, he kind of did want someone watching him, watching out for him; it was just that the person he wanted to belong to wasn't there anymore. And he'd been monitored by SHIELD in lock down for weeks to make sure that Loki was out of his head. It had made sense to him that Stark and the others would want to check for themselves.

"We handled this badly. We all know it. And we don't want to pressure you, but we all want to apologise."

"And they sent you in first. Because of the Big Guy? They figure I can't make you angry so I have to hear you out?"

"No one sent me. I guess I just feel most guilty." He tried a smile and Clint rolled his eyes.

"I'm the one that acted like a freak. I know you guys were just trying to look out for me, it was just too much, too close." He shrugged and stood back up, busying himself with the dishes in the drainer, putting them away. "You sure you don't want a drink or something?"

"Juice would be good, thanks." Bruce smiled. "So, how are you enjoying living on your own? From what Natasha and Fury said, I guess it's been a while?"

"Yeah. A while. It's okay. It's just taking a long time to get everything how I want it. And I need more stuff." He gestured to the empty shelves. He wondered what Bruce would say if Clint told him. If he said 'this is my first apartment ever; I haven't had a home since I was a kid; I'm drowning, save me'.

"But shopping is..." Bruce replied and they both laughed.

"Yeah."

"If you wanted I could..." Bruce hunched his shoulders. "I could come with you. I've been putting off clothes shopping myself."

"Okay. Yeah. That'd be good." Clint managed a smile. "I don't know that I'd do it left to myself." He went to pick up his glass to take a drink, but the back of his knuckles grazed it and it fell and shattered on the floor. "Aw, juice." He got down on the floor to clean up his mess, and Bruce got down on his knees beside him.

Together they started picking up the pieces.

* * *

After that, he and Bruce started a tentative friendship. They braved the mall together and Bruce helped Clint paint. They watched movies and ate dinner together sometimes. It felt good. And Bruce never pressed Clint, never tried to make him make decisions when Clint was having a bad day and never asked why Clint was messed up. In return, Clint never let Bruce see any fear and never tried to make Bruce feel trapped.

It worked. Somehow.

And it gave Clint a window back into the team. He showed up for missions and training of course, but with Bruce socialising came easy. So when Bruce invited him in to the Tower for a team meal, he said yes.

And it was awkward. So very, very awkward. But Clint ignored any and all apologies or references to what had happened and it got better. Slowly. He would visit the team at the Tower, only if Bruce was present, and take advantage of Stark's shooting range and mad gym. He didn't invite any of them back to his apartment. That was his space and he needed time.

Eventually, things evened out. They all relaxed around each other, and stopped stepping on each others' issues. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Stark had massive trust and dependency issues (almost as big as Clint's) and the monitoring was just his way of making himself feel safe. Clint could understand that. And Steve was so far out of his depth it wasn't even funny. But they were all coming to terms with everything.

They all assumed that Clint's control issues came from Loki. Even Natasha, because she'd only known him when he belonged to Coulson. She'd never seen him alone and scared and trying to be himself.

Then it turned out that Clint's landlord was a scumbag Russian tracksuit mafia guy who abused his dog and was running a protection racket on the building.

Of course he was. Because Clint sucked at making decisions, so of course the building he chose to live in would be owned by Russian gangsters. Because that was Clint's life. It didn't even occur to Clint to ask the team for help. This was his apartment in his building and his shitty life choices that had led him to this moment.

So he fought them and won, which he wasn't expecting. And he got a dog out of it. Which he was expecting even less. And somehow he now owned the whole fucking building and had tenants relying on him and wow this whole thing had gotten really out of control. He curled up on the floor by the end of his bed and buried his face in his knees. These people needed him. The dumb dog needed him. And suddenly he wasn't just trying to make decisions for himself.

This was why he needed someone to take care of him, to own him, to make his decisions with him. Because otherwise he ended up with a dog and nothing to feed him, a building full of people, and a gang of Russian goons who really, really want to kill him.

* * *

Bruce, when he found out, was quietly furious in a much more terrifying way than hulking out ever was.

"Why didn't you tell us? What's the point of having a team if you don't tell us anything?"

"I don't..."

"That's what teams are for. We take care of each other. You have a problem, we have a problem."

And that sounded... that sounded like all the best parts of being owned without any of the parts that hurt. And Clint wasn't sure how to deal with that. Bruce put his hand on the back of Clint's neck and they sat together on Clint's ratty but ridiculously comfortable sofa in silence for a very long time.

* * *

_"You jumped off a roof with no grappling hook, no back up, no one to catch you! That is never acceptable behaviour!"_

_"That was over a week ago! Are we really going to fight about it now?"_

_"I waited until you were out of medical out of concern for your health." And in the hopes that his own fury would fade. It hadn't._

_"I'm fine!"_

_"Fine? Fine?! A broken ankle, two cracked ribs, a hairline fracture to your pelvis and a concussion and you call that fine?"_

_"I didn't break any of your stupid rules and I got the mission done! You don't get to be angry at me!" and that moment was the closest Phil ever got to hitting Clint. His hand was a fist, clenched and up, ready to strike before he managed to get control of himself._

_"Get out. No range time until after the casts come off."_

_"What?" He went pale, and his eyes were wild. "Medical said I could. They said an hour of supervised range time a day."_

_"Well, I say you can't. You made a bad decision Clint."_

_"I made the only choice available! If I hadn't done what I did, we wouldn't have completed the mission."_

_"You've been at SHIELD for almost five years now. At what point will you learn that you are not expendable? That we put the lives of our agents over completion of missions, especially missions that have no time constraint on them." He shook his head, his anger leaving him in a rush. Now he was just tired. "You're dismissed, Barton."_

_"Sir..."_

_"I said you're dismissed."_

* * *

The thing is that when it comes to trusting people, Clint only has two modes. Actually, Clint only has two modes in a lot of things. But trust is the one that matters right now. He either trusts unreservedly or he doesn't trust at all. That's pretty much his whole problem. And he trusted Bruce. And Bruce trusted the team. Which made things complicated.

He started making more of an effort, and it was clear the others noticed. They commented on how much of a team player he'd become and he felt warm the way he used to whenever Phil said he was proud of him. And he and Bruce got closer and closer. Everything just felt right for the first time in a long time.

Of course, they didn't know. They didn't know how much 'well done' or 'good job' meant to him. They didn't know how alone he felt even in a crowd. They didn't know that he struggled every day to decide how to decorate his apartment or what to eat for dinner, or... well, everything. He thought that was probably a good thing. That they didn't know.

He ate chocolate pop tarts every day for a week because he could. He painted every wall in his bedroom a different shade of purple and he painted the ceiling a sort of bluish grey.

"Tony?"

"Hey, feathers. I didn't know you were here."

"I was visiting Bruce." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Since I was here, I was wondering, if you're not too busy..."

"Spit it out."

"R and D did something and now my bow..." he held it out, like an offering. "Could you maybe have a look at it?"

Tony looked at him for a long moment; long enough that Clint began to pull his bow back towards him, shoulders hunched.

"Sure, hand it over, this'll be great, and I'll make it better than it ever was. Why are you even going to SHIELD with this, I'm so much better than them. Seriously, not sure if I should be offended you went to them first." He turned the bow over in his hands. "This is going to be awesome."

"Thanks."

"Hey, we're a team, it's what we do. Ooh, remind me to show you to flying bike when I'm done with the bow."

"Flying bike?"

* * *

So yeah. Everything was going really well. His building was steadily being repaired up to code, and his tenants all liked him. His dog was healthy and happy and Clint walked him every day. His friendship with Bruce was evolving into something and Clint liked it, even if he wasn't sure exactly where it was going. His team was... well, it was a team.

And he had a flying motorbike. Which was awesome.

So when he got home from a mission and found Fury sitting at the kitchen table, he knew it was going to be bad. Things never went this good for this long. Not for him.


	3. Chapter 3

**So it's official. When this one is done, there's going to be a one-shot intermission, followed by a multi-chap sequel. So yay.**

**AoS compliant, kind of. Spoilers up to the episode 'The Magical Place' (which finally aired in the UK on this past friday and OH MY GOSH!)**

* * *

Clint walked in slowly, taking the time to put his bag down and kick off his shoes.

"Hey, Boss. Should I be sitting down?"

"Yes." No prevarication or discussion. Clint sat down. Fury took a long drink from his mug, full of coffee plundered from Clint's cupboards, and sighed. He set the cup down with a clink. "You know, I think Coulson dying might have been the best thing that could have happened to you."

Every muscle in Clint's body tensed at once.

"Sir?"

"Look at you. You're doing so much better than you have in the ten years you've worked with SHIELD. And maybe we handled your whole situation wrong, but it wasn't like we had any experience with anything quite like you. That's my fault. But we did the best we could." He shook his head. "You're living alone in your own building, which means you've finally decided to access your wages, which you didn't really do before unless you absolutely had to. You're working with a team, and apparently trust them. And Sitwell tells me you and Banner are dating."

"We're not... I mean, we might be..." Clint closed his mouth with a snap, feeling himself flush.

"You've adjusted in ways that we all thought were impossible for you, after everything."

"To be honest, it surprised me too, sir."

"I wasn't going to tell you this. But events have come to a head, and I expect you and the team will be finding out soon enough anyway." There was a pressure building in Clint's chest, a sort of cross between excitement and terror. And hope. And nausea. And maybe some other things. "Agent Barton, welcome to Level Seven."

"What? What is it?"

"Agent Coulson died during Loki's attack. He was then transferred to the special projects sector of medical and they managed, through some pretty weird shit, to bring him back."

"So... wait. What?"

"Agent Coulson is alive. He isn't exactly the same person that we knew, but he's alive."

"I don't... I can't..." his breathing was coming faster and his hands became fists.

"I understand that this is a lot to take in," Fury stood up and pushed his chair back into the table. "So I'll leave you to adjust."

And with that he turned and walked out.

"Fuck."

* * *

Clint honestly wasn't sure how to feel about Fury's big reveal. He'd realised over the past couple of months that his relationship with Coulson wasn't exactly the most healthy thing in the world. But at the same time, he owed Coulson a lot. Coulson had helped him as best as he knew how, an it had helped. And if Coulson was alive, Clint wanted to see him. Simple as that. Part of Clint wanted to show the other man how well he was doing, but the rest of him felt that would be rubbing it in. 'Look at how much better I did with you dead'.

(Also, there was a part of him-the whimpering desperate part that still froze whenever anyone asked for his opinion-that wanted to drop to his knees and have Coulson tell him everything would be okay).

He wasn't being fair. Coulson would be happy for him. He knew that. Coulson had always only wanted the best for him. Coulson cared about him.

But he couldn't go back to how things were. Could he? He thought about kneeling on the carpet in Coulson's office, with a hand on the nape of his neck. At first it felt right. Safe, the way it always felt. Then he imagined Bruce walking in on them and the feeling turned cold and sharp in an instant. He swallowed hard, feeling sick.

No. His relationship with Coulson hadn't been wrong. Nothing they'd done had been wrong. Bruce would understand.

* * *

_Clint limped along the street. His left leg was in a cast, and his left arm was in a sling. There had been an arrow through his shoulder, but he'd pulled it out before going to the hospital. They'd stitched him up and x-rayed him and poked his cracked ribs. Then he'd snuck away before they could put him into foster care. Never again._

_Sure, the circus had moved on without him, but he wasn't some stupid kid. He could take care of himself._

_He lasted less than a week before he was taken. And looking back, he was pretty sure they'd been watching the whole time, waiting for him to get really desperate._

_They treated him with kindness at first. He didn't trust it, of course he didn't, but they aive him pain killers and lots of food and even had a doctor come and look at him._

_His room door was locked and they talked about 'repayment'._

_As soon as his cast came off, the training began._

_He was moved to a basement room with no natural light. They say they were told to keep an eye out for him. They say they've heard he's a good boy; good with a bow. He tells them to go fuck themselves._

_It takes a long time to break him._

_But he does break._

_Everyone does eventually._

* * *

He called Bruce. And Bruce came.

Clint was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, his back against the wall. Bruce has had a key for emergencies for a while now, and he came right in.

"Clint? Clint, are you okay? What happened?" it took him a moment to find the archer, and when he did he rushed to his side and dropped to his knees.

"I'm not drunk," Clint said, because it seemed important. "I thought about it, but I'm not."

"Good. That's good. What happened?"

"Fury came to see me. Coulson's alive."

He probably shouldn't have just blurted it out like that. But he trusted Bruce, trusted his control. And he was right, Bruce did start to turn a little green around the edges, but he breathed through it and remained himself.

"Why? Why the story?"

"Because he was dead for a while. We needed the push. Because he needed time to recover. Because..."

"Because?"

"Maybe he wanted a clean break from... the team."

"What? Why would he want that?"

"Maybe... Maybe the team was getting too dependent on him. And he was hurt and trying to recover and he didn't need the added stress of some clingy superheroes dragging him down."

"Okay. We're going to talk more about this later, but for right now, can I give you a hug?" and this was why he liked Bruce. Why he found himself falling slowly and inexorably (hey, he knows big words, shut up) in love with him.

Bruce never took anything for granted. He always asked.

"Please."

* * *

_"You won't talk to anybody. I'm guessing that was a rule." Coulson sighed and ran a hand down his face. The assassin boy was curled on the floor in the corner, his hospital gown bunched up around him. He looked young and scared and confused, and Coulson just wanted to make it better. But the idea Fury had had... he wasn't sure if this was a good plan._

_"You don't belong to them anymore. You belong to me. I stole you and now you're mine. I protect the things that are mine." He felt ridiculous for saying it, but the boy (and he might be in his twenties, but he still seemed like a boy to Coulson) did relax a little as he spoke. He stepped towards him and ducked down to his level. "You are mine," he repeated._

* * *

They sat curled up in Clint's blanket fort for a long time.

"I've never told anyone this before," Clint said, and Bruce was silent. "You know I grew up in the circus? Well, when I was fourteen, I found out that my mentor, the guy who trained me, were embezzling money. Stealing from the circus. I just... I couldn't let him carry on with it, I went to my brother and told him what was going on and it turned out that he was in on it." Clint shrugged, his shoulders shifting against Bruce's side. "Typical, right? They beat me up pretty good and Trick, that's the guy who trained me, he stuck an arrow in my shoulder." He took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes, ducking his head. He didn't want to see Bruce's face as he told him this. "When I woke up, the circus had moved on. I was a screwed up kid and the thing I was most scared of was going back into to foster care." Bruce made a noise of understanding, and it drew an almost smile from Clint. "I was found by some people. Apparently Trick had asked them to look out for me. Offered me to them on a silver platter. They were nice at first. Gave me medical attention, fed me, clothed me. Treated me like I mattered. It didn't get bad until after the casts came off. They trained me to obey them in everything. Trained me to be the perfect assassin with no free will." Clint laughed and the sound was broken. It came out like a sob, like his heart was breaking, like this _mattered._

"God." Bruce's arm tightened around Clint almost uncomfortably, but he didn't mind.

"SHIELD found me. Phil found me. They helped me. Taught me how to think for myself again. Coulson, he turned me back from a mindless animal back into a human being. I would go on my knees for him and he would let me. He helped me clear my head when I needed it. Helped me make decisions. He set rules and got me to stick to them, because I needed them." He shook his head. "Saying it out loud, it sounds really bad. But he was helping me in the only way he knew how. And then Loki happened."

"And you lost your free will."

"Again. And this time it wasn't even something I could fight against. It was worse. And Phil was dead. I couldn't go to him for help, I couldn't go to anyone else..."

"And then the problem at the Tower happened."

"Yeah. I was pretty screwed up at that point."

"I think I understand a little better now."

"And now he's back. But I've made all these decisions and I'm living on my own. I'm independent. I finally grew up." He smiled. "And I don't want him to feel like he was hurting me or that he was holding me back, but I don't want things to go back to how they were either."

"I think that's perfectly understandable." Bruce pressed a kiss to Clint's temple.

"Even with him being dead, he was helping me. There were rules and I had them even when I didn't have anything else."

"Then I'm glad."

"You're not freaked out? I imagined more freaking out."

"I might be freaking out a bit. But we all have our pasts." Bruce took a deep, slow, steady breath. "I saw my father kill my mother when I was eight years old. He hated me and he hated her for giving birth to me. He hated that I was cleverer than him and he thought I was a freak and a mutant. He wanted to study me and he wanted to kill me."

"I didn't know..."

"I know. You're not supposed to." Bruce smiled wryly. "The Big Guy was my invisible friend, of a sort. I used to pretend that this big monster would come and save me. And I had my father's temper."

"And then, when the accident happened?"

"He came out to save me, just how I wanted him to when I was a kid. And I hate him. I hate that he showed up now and not then, and I know that's not rational. I hate that he's strong and I'm not. I hate that he won't leave me alone."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. But that's not the point. The point is: we all have our histories. Every single one of us. And I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad you're okay."

"And I'm glad you're here too, and the Big Guy." Clint turned to press a kiss to the corner of Bruce's mouth. Neither of them pressed for any more, and it was about comfort, not sex. And Clint didn't feel scared or alone or broken, at least for a moment.

* * *

Coulson didn't show up at the Tower. Fury didn't come and tell everyone else. No, Coulson and his new team (he had a new team, Clint was supposed to be his, the Avengers were supposed to be his) showed up on the news. That's how everyone else found out. By watching Coulson and a bunch of kids saving the day on the news.

The team were understandably upset about it. Tony and Steve both ranted at Fury. Natasha came to Clint's apartment and they both drank vodka and didn't say anything. Thor was still in Asgard, so he didn't really have anything to say about it, but the rest of them, they were upset. Pepper cried. JARVIS's little silicon heart was broken.

Clint was falling apart. He was doing it quietly and with much less drama than the last time, but he was still falling apart. He wanted to chase after Coulson like a dog; he wanted to crawl under Bruce's skin and live there; he wanted to break with SHIELD. Mostly, he wanted to be told that everything would be okay. That he was okay.

After dinner one night, he dropped to his knees in front of Bruce.

"Clint?"

"Please. I just... please?"

"Okay." He ran his hand through Clint's hair and Clint pressed his face into Bruce's thigh. "Okay."

They sat like that for a long time, and Bruce's hand petted him for a long time, and then settled down on the nape of Clint's neck and squeezed gently.

"Sorry," Clint said eventually, his voice a little distant, a little slurred.

"It's okay. You're okay. Come on. Let's get you to bed." Bruce pulled Clint to his feet and helped him through to the bathroom. He helped him get changed and got him into bed. Then he started to move away, and Clint grabbed at his wrist. "I'm just going to turn off the lights, I promise. I'm not going anywhere." Clint had to force himself to let go.

Bruce went over to the wall and switched off the lights; he then stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, pressing himself flush against Clint's back.

He was still there when Clint woke up in the morning.

* * *

_"You would be proud of him," Fury says. "He's grown up, finally. He'd moved out of the Tower, got his own apartment. Which surprised me and you know not much does that. He's doing well. I'll keep an eye on him, I promise." He stood up, his coat billowing around him. "I'll be back to visit again tomorrow." He turned and headed towards the door._

_"Please. Please let me die."_

_Fury didn't pause._

* * *

"Uh, sir?" Simmons' voice came over the intercom.

"Yes, Jemma, what is it?" Phil wasn't really listening; his mind was on a thousand different things, including Tahiti and their last mission.

"There's a really angry man standing at the end of the ramp. And he wants to talk to you."

"What?" Phil frowned and headed down to the cargo bay of the Bus where Lola and the van were kept. Jemma and Leo were standing close together on the ramp, and Ward was facing off with the angry looking man. The two men both had their arms folded and neither one looked impressed. "Clint. I wasn't expecting you."

"You mean you didn't know I knew you were alive," Clint corrected. "Fury outed you."

"We should talk."

"Really? You think?"

"Come to my office." He turned and started walking, expecting obedience, expecting Clint to follow.

"No. You can come to my place." Clint's chin was up defiantly, and his body language screamed that he wasn't sure how Phil was going to take this. Coulson froze for a second, then turned and stared at Clint. He hadn't seen that body language in years, not since he realised the best way to deal with Clint was to meet him half way. Slowly, he nodded.

"That's reasonable," he said and made his way down the ramp to join Clint. He put a hand briefly on Ward's shoulder as he passed.

Neither Clint nor Phil spoke on the entire drive to Clint's apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

**So there's a lot of emotions in this chapter and discussion of why Coulson pretended to be dead.**

* * *

"Were you ever going to tell me? Were you even hurt?" Clint asked before the door to his apartment had even finished closing.

"Let's sit down. If we're going to talk about it, it will take a while." He gestured towards the kitchen table, and Clint allowed himself to be led. Coulson looked around. "This is your place? It's nice. It feels like a home."

"I don't..." Clint shook his head sharply and wrapped his arms tightly about himself. "I don't want to talk about my apartment. Or the team, or Bruce, or anything you might have heard from Fury. I want to know why I didn't know you were alive. Why did you let me think you were dead?"

"Okay, we're going to address some of the things you just said later. First, I was dead for four days. They tried seven different ways before they brought me back, and even after that, I was in no shape to..." he bit down on his lower lip and shook his head. "You needed me to be strong, you've always needed me to be strong. I was... I asked them to let me die. I _begged_ them." There was a long, drawn out silence after that, and slowly Clint began to untense. Coulson continued. "I didn't remember all this at first. They went into my head and gave me something 'more pleasant' to remember instead. I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn't know what. I couldn't just..." he gestured helplessly.

"I could have helped."

"I know. But you'd been through so much, and I could barely help myself."

Clint thought about it. He thought about people getting inside your head and messing around. He thought about death and dying and hurting. He thought about being depended on; about Lucky and his tenants and Bruce.

He thought he might understand.

But...

"You said I was yours."

Coulson closed his eyes for a long moment.

"I did."

"Loki stole me. I got myself back but you were gone."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And just like that, Clint forgave him. He knew it was fucked up, but so was Clint. And right then, he didn't care.

"Okay."

"Okay? Just like that?"

"Ridiculous amounts of loyalty and the ability to bounce back are my key characteristics. You know this."

Coulson laughed a little huff of sound, and shakes his head.

"Okay." He paused for a moment, head tilted and he looked at Clint, really looked at him. "How are you?"

"Better. Not great, but better. Loki..." he swallowed. "Yeah, that was not fun. And I was alone. I didn't handle it well for a while. But it's been months. And things are better."

"I'm glad." He let his expression go sly. "And Bruce?"

"I..." he looked down at his hands. "I like him? Kinda? I don't know." He shrugged a little. "I kept to the rules. We haven't done anything yet, not sex or anything. I don't know if I want to. But I told him. I told him everything. And he didn't run away. And..."

"What?"

"I went on my knees for him."

Coulson sucked in a quick breath and Clint could see him rearranging his thoughts.

"Do you love him?"

"No. Not yet. But I could. I could so easily."

"And that scares you."

"I've had sex. You know I've had sex. Lots of sex. Enthusiastic sweaty sex."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Of course it scares me. I'm stupid, not crazy."

"You're not stupid." The words might seem harsh, but the tone was fond.

They fell back into silence.

"I can appreciate it better now. No, that's the wrong word. I always appreciated what you've done for me. I just understand better now, how hard it must have been for you." Clint frowned down into his mug. "I have a dog now, and this building is full of people and they're mine. I have to take care of them and I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Did you just compare yourself to a dog?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yes. I think I do." Coulson's tone was contemplative and he took a sip of coffee before continuing. "I was flying blind a lot of the time with you, and I probably did as many things wrong as I did right, but I don't regret a moment of it. I wanted to help. You were mine."

"It's not fair. I've spent more of my life free than I ever spent working for them," Clint said quietly. "I should be past this. I shouldn't need..." he shook his head.

"I hate that I never me the real you," Coulson returned, sensing that any comment on what Clint had said would be frowned upon. "I see glimpses sometimes, but I regret... no, that's the wrong word. I enjoy my time with you too much to call it regret. It's more that I want you to have everything. I don't want you to have to do things you don't want to." Clint shook his head.

" Aw, Phil, no. This is the real me. More now than ever. I don't know who I would have grown up into without what they did. But I don't think it would be that different. Maybe a little braver, a little less scared. But the things you're worried about. The, the kneeling, the following orders, the loyalty," the corner of Clint's mouth twisted up, self mocking. "I think that was always a part of me. I remember when I was a kid, back with the circus, Barney used to say I'd take 'well done' over a hundred dollar bill."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And my loyalty to the circus is what got me in trouble in the first place."

"I think I understand what you're saying," Coulson nodded slowly, trying to absorb what Clint was telling him. It was difficult to get his head around; he'd seen Clint as being fundamentally broken, damaged, for so long.

"Can I?" Clint burst out after a long, silent moment. "I know, it's complicated, and I don't expect... I know that I depended on you too much, that I wasn't fair on you, that I dragged you down. But please, just for today, can I?"

Coulson is used to being blindsided by Clint, but this still hit him hard, makes his breath catch in his throat.

"You still trust me with that?"

"Of course."

"Then yes. Whatever you want."

* * *

Clint got out of his chair so fast that the legs scraped against the floor. He dropped to his knees in front of Coulson and pressed his face into Coulson's thigh. Immediately, the tension went out of both of them, and Phil's hand was in Clint's hair, petting him gently. They sat like that for a moment.

Then Phil let out a huff of amused annoyance.

"Stay," he said, and got up. Clint didn't move. He did strain his ears to follow Coulson's movements around the apartment. When Phil came back, he was carrying a large throw cushion that he dropped to the floor and pointed at. "Come on." Clint shuffled over onto the cushion, and Phil sat back down. Clint immediately pressed his face back against Coulson's leg.

They sat like that for a long time.

* * *

_"Why is he my problem?" Coulson asked._

_"Because you're the only one he'll respond to. He fights or ignores or hides from everyone else. Besides, you're the one who stole the kid and bought him in."_

_"He doesn't 'respond' to me. He barely seems aware of anything."_

_"He'll let you touch him. He doesn't hide on the top shelf of his closet or under the bed. He listens when you talk. You're doing better than the rest of us."_

_"He's been here six months, sir. Surely there's been more progress than that." The tone in Coulson's voice shows how little he believed what Fury was implying._

_"I'm being deadly serious, Cheese. You can go see for yourself."_

_So Phil went. He didn't expect miracles, of course, but he knows that their psych staff are exceptional and the young man seemed to have a spark of life left in him. He watched for a while through the one way glass and what he saw made him frown. The man sat on the bed, legs folded. He didn't move. Not even an inch. An agent or possibly a nurse, Coulson didn't really have a working knowledge of the system in place, entered and put a tray of food on the table. She took a forkful and ate it. Then she put the fork back on the plate, turned around and left. As soon as she had entered, the man had dived off the bed (in a remarkably fluid motion) and he was across the room and under the small desk in seconds. He stayed there until he was sure she was gone and only then emerged. He ate the food quickly and efficiently, with an air of someone expecting the food to be taken off them._

_Phil frowned some more. He watched for five hours and in that time the man did not speak. The man did not move unless provoked. The man didn't let anyone come within six foot of him._

_This was a problem._

_Damn it. He hated it when Fury was right. Especially about something he should have seen for himself._

_He took a deep breath, ensured his Agent Coulson persona was firmly in place, and walked into the room. The man started off the bed again, following the same routine Coulson had observed with everyone who entered, and then he paused. He frowned, tilted his head and then slowly and cautiously approached the agent. Coulson was reminded of a cat used to being kicked, but still curious enough to overlook fear occasionally._

_When the man got to within a foot of Coulson he dropped suddenly to his knees and bowed his head. He didn't flinch when Coulson put a hand on his shoulder. He didn't run and hide. He just knelt there, waiting._

_And wasn't that just perfect?_

* * *

"Have you done this with anyone else?" Phil asked quietly after nearly an hour. He'd seen Clint go to his knees for Fury once or twice, but it wasn't like this. It was respect. It wasn't intimate in the way this was.

"No. Well, yes. Once with Bruce. But it was different." Clint's voice was loose and deep, soft around the edges and Phil smiled. His hand, which had settled on the nape of Clint's neck, came up to run his hand through Clint's hair.

"How was it different?"

"It wasn't you. He wasn't..."

"Did you do this with any of your previous partners?"

"No," Clint shook his head against the fabric of Coulson's pants. "I tried once with Nat, but she thought I was joking. I couldn't explain it to her."

"But you could to Bruce."

"I trust him."

Coulson breathed in sharply, almost a gasp. That was... painful. But brilliant, like the way a fresh pink scar looks. It stands out sharply against the rest of the skin, and it hurts to look at it, but at the same time, you know it's healing. That it's better than it was.

"I'm glad."

Another hour passed in silence, and then Phil pulled Clint to his feet. The younger man was shaky and wobbly, and Phil got him to eat and drink a little and then stripped him off and put him to bed. He then stripped down to his boxers, grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and made himself a bed on the sofa. He wasn't going to leave while Clint was vulnerable.

* * *

Clint woke up to the ringing of an unfamiliar phone, followed by a very familiar voice. He made his way into the living room and found Coulson sitting on the sofa, blearily rubbing at his face with a cell phone pressed to his ear. He pulled an apologetic grimace, and Clint waved it off, smiling. Phil had stayed. He'd stayed the night. He hadn't left.

Clint went over to get some coffee started, but he couldn't help listening to what Phil was saying.

"I'm fine. It's none of your business." A pause. "No, Skye. Do not get Ward and come after me. We're on downtime. I suggest you enjoy yours. What I do with mine is my business." Another pause, then a laugh and a shake of his head. "Goodbye, Skye." He hung up and dropped his phone on the coffee table. "Sorry about that," he said, coming through to the kitchen.

"It's okay. Your team, it's okay then?" He fiddled with the mugs. "You like working with them?"

"They're good people. I miss you, I miss Natasha." He got the milk out of the fridge and passed it to Clint. "I don't miss Stark." That surprised a laugh out of the archer.

"Liar." It was said fondly, and Clint filled the two mugs and carried them over to the table. "We missed you, but if you're happy, then that's good. And I read a couple of the mission reports before I came to meet you. You're doing good things, helping people."

"So you forgive me?" it was supposed to come out lightly as a joke, but instead it came out broken. Desperate. That was wrong, Clint thought. If anyone should be asking for forgiveness it should be him; he was the one who moved on without Phil, who laughed and joked and grew up while Phil was 'dead'. But he couldn't say that. This wasn't about him. Instead he put his coffee down and met Phil's eyes. He spoke gently, carefully (the way Phil had always been with him).

"Phil. Of course. From what you've said, it sounds like it wasn't your choice. And I did okay. I coped."

"I know you did. I'm so proud of you. Of the person you've become. I just wish I'd been here to see it."

There was a knock on the door.

Clint frowned over at it. Was he expecting anyone? There was a tickle at the back of his brain, but he couldn't remember why.

"If that's Skye here to rescue me..." Coulson trailed off shaking his head, and Clint grinned. He went to answer the door, hoping that it actually was Coulson's team, because that would be awesome. He flung the door open, trying to look as menacing as he could in case it was the team, it wouldn't do to let them think he wasn't terrifying.

But it wasn't Coulson's team...

* * *

**Sorry about the little bit of a cliff hanger! But I bet you can guess if you try really hard. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**So this one gets pretty heavy. There are warnings in the end notes. If you're worried about being triggered, please check there, or message me if you want the details. Or if you have any comments/questions you don't want to put in the comments here. I honestly wasn't sure how much to warn for here, because it's not very graphic at all compared with a lot of my stuff, but please get in touch if you have any worries/thoughts on this.**

* * *

It was Bruce. He was standing there wringing his hands, a tentative smile on his face that melted a little when he saw Clint's expression (which quickly changed from menacing to confused). At Bruce's feet, sat Lucky. Clint suddenly remembered he had asked Bruce to take him the day before, because he hadn't wanted the dog underfoot while he was confronting Coulson. Stupid. How could he have forgotten that?

"Bruce. Uh, hey."

"Hey. I bought Lucky back. I thought you might want to talk..." He glanced past Clint into the apartment and saw Coulson sitting at the kitchen table, still in boxers and t shirt because getting back into the suit felt like going back to work and this wasn't work. His face fell. "Oh. Sorry, I'll just..." he pressed the end of a leash into Clint's hand and then turned and walked away.

"Bruce? Bruce! Wait!" Bruce didn't wait. He didn't even turn around. "Aw, Bruce." Clint thumped the door frame and looked down at his dog. "What was that about?"

* * *

_"Stop it." Coulson's voice was like a whip as he pushed Clint away. Clint, not expecting it, fell backwards onto the floor._

_"What? Why?"_

_"We aren't doing that."_

_"Why not? I know you want to." He gestured to the bulge in Coulson's pants._

_"Because I said no. That should be enough. If you need more, how about because I am your superior and it's against regulations?"_

_"I don't understand," Clint said as he pulled himself into a sitting position, his legs folded. "You want to, I don't mind, what's the problem?" he shook his head and then continued, a little unsure."You said I had to initiate."_

_Coulson closed his eyes and made a pained noise._

_"That wasn't what I meant. You don't want to do this. You noticed I was..." he gestured to his groin, "and because I'm in a position of power and you want to make me happy, you decided to..." he trailed off, his hand moving in an obscene way._

_"That's not true!"_

_"Stand up." Clint did as he was told. Phil was sitting in the sofa in his office, so with Clint standing he could easily reach out and touch Clint's groin. "You aren't hard. You don't want to have sex with me. You need to stop."_

_Clint took a step back and wrapped his arms around his torso in a self-hug. Phil sighed and zipped up his pants. Clint hadn't gotten very far, and Phil had been expecting this particular hurdle. Although, he hadn't expected Clint to drop to his knees and immediately reach for the front of Phil's pants. He probably should have, Clint wasn't exactly known for subtlety._

_"You can leave if you want. Or you can come sit with me."_

_"Can I kneel?"_

_"If you want."_

* * *

"Go after him," Phil said, his expression pained.

"What? Why? He's just being weird."

"No, he knew you were coming to see me yesterday, yes? And you and he have some sort of relationship. Then he finds us both in our underwear the morning after? He thinks..."

"He thinks we had sex?"

"Maybe. But you should go after him." Clint glanced towards the door, and then grabbed his phone and dialled Bruce's number. Phil started to warn him that Bruce probably wouldn't answer, but before he could, Bruce picked up.

"Hey," Clint said. "It wasn't what it looked like. Please come back. Let me explain. I... I need you." there was a pause. "Please. Okay." He hung up and turned to Phil. "He's coming back."

"I'm glad."

Clint leaned down and ruffled Lucky's fur, disconnecting the leash. The dog went up on his hind legs and licked Clint's face, and then dropped down and trotted over to investigate Phil.

There was a knock on the door.

This time when Clint opened it, Bruce was standing there, looking a little dishevelled and a little embarrassed.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course, come in." Clint stepped back, but he couldn't help reaching a hand out towards the other man. Bruce ignored it and stepped past Clint into the room. "Thank you for coming back." Clint closed the door and followed Bruce closely as he crossed to the kitchen table and they both sat down. No one spoke for a long moment. "We didn't have sex!" Clint burst out.

Coulson dropped his head into his hands and sighed and Bruce stared at them both for a second and then started to laugh. His laughter wasn't loud or boisterous, but once he started it was clear he wasn't going to be able to stop for a while. They let him laugh it out, Clint bemused and Phil with a small secret smile.

"That's why you thought I left?" Bruce finally managed, his laughter dying off. "You thought I thought you'd had sex?"

"Well," Clint glanced at Phil. "I know what it looked like."

"It looked like you two were still busy, and I know you had a lot to resolve. I didn't want to get in the way. I came over to drop Lucky back and give you someone to talk to if you needed it. I'd assumed Agent Coulson had left the night before, which was stupid on my part. I left because you don't need me here and I thought you might want privacy."

"Oh," Clint said, swallowing.

"Besides, we haven't..." Bruce gestured, flushing slightly. "Formalised anything yet."

"Do you want to formalise things?"

"I think this is maybe a conversation I shouldn't be here for." Coulson stood up. "I'm going to get dressed and find my team before they come after me." He held out his hand. "Dr Banner."

"Please, Bruce."

"Then I'm Phil." They shook hands.

"You don't have to leave on my account."

"I think I do."

"Well, you should stop by the Tower sometime. They all miss you. Maybe Thursday?"

"What's Thursday?"

"Avenger's Movie Night. Clint's turn to choose."

"Ah. What are we watching?" Clint froze for a moment, and then shrugged and glanced away. Phil sighed, and Bruce frowned.

"So we'll see you Thursday?"

"We'll see." Phil tilted his head slightly and examined Bruce closely. "But before I go, know this. I stole him, he belongs to me. And I take care of my things. If you ever hurt him in a way he doesn't ask for, I will come after you and I will hurt you in ways you have never imagined. I have access to drugs that render the Hulk temporarily out of the picture, so I could do it."

"What do you mean by 'in a way he doesn't ask for'?"

"Oh, haven't you discussed that yet?" He smiled mildly, then turned and walked over to retrieve his suit, the smile turning to a grin at Clint's blush as soon as the archer couldn't see his face.

* * *

_"Clint, is everything okay?" The archer had burst into Phil's office first thing in the morning and locked the door behind him, before dropping to his knees and pressing his face into Phil's side. Phil had let him kneel there for a long time, until his breathing had evened out. Now it was time to find out what exactly had happened to send the man into full flight._

_"She hit me." Clint's voice was small and quiet, but still clearly audio._

_"What? Who?" He knew Clint could take care of himself, his hand to hand was only rivalled by Romanov._

_"Bobbi. She hit me."_

_"Bobbi as in Barbara Morse," Phil asked, wanting to clarify things, and trying to keep a grip on his temper. "You're girlfriend."_

_"Yeah. We were making out and then she hit me, not hard, not like she meant it."_

_"Okay. Did you hit her back?"_

_"What? No!"_

_"Clint, you're going to have to help me out here. Tell me exactly what happened." He brushed gentle fingers through Clint's hair._

_"We were making out and she made a joke and I laughed and then she hit me!"_

_"Okay."_

_"And I may have freaked out."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because she hit me! We were about to have sex and she hit me! And then she said 'I thought you'd like it, you're so eager to please'." His hands clenched, twisting the fabric of Phil's pants. "And then she hit me again!"_

_"And did you like it?"_

_"I don't know. I think... maybe?"_

_"Okay. That's okay. If you like it. But she shouldn't have just done that without talking to you. You get that?"_

_"I thought maybe that was right, but I wasn't sure. I mean we're dating. We're having sex."_

_"That doesn't mean she can do what she likes. We've talked about this."_

_"Blanket consent isn't really consent," Clint said immediately. He'd learned it by rote, because Coulson had wanted him to, but it had taken a long time for him to understand. Clint still wasn't sure he really did understand, but he was trying. He frowned. "I don't think I want to date her anymore."_

_"Is this the first time something she's done has made you uncomfortable in the bedroom?"_

_"No. She wanted to tie me up and I said yes, but then I didn't like it and I said stop and she didn't, not right away."_

_Coulson took a deep breath and let it out slowly._

_"That wasn't right. Stop means stop and no means no. If you want to break up with her, you should."_

_"Okay. What about the other thing?"_

_"Did you like being hit? Did you like being tied up?"_

_"It felt... safe. Familiar. At least at first, then..." he shook his head and tried to press closer._

_"It's possible that you might enjoy those sorts of things with the right partner. With someone you trusted."_

_"But what if I get a flashback or freak out like I did with Bobbi?"_

_"Then your partner would be there to help you through it."_

* * *

"You really thought I'd just walk out on you because I saw Agen- Phil was here? Just give up on everything we've been building?" Bruce put his hand over Clint's and squeezed gently.

"I don't... I haven't really had many relationships. One night stands where I can leave are so much easier. The only real long term relationship didn't really end well."

"Can I ask why?"

"I trusted her too much and she took advantage of that."

"Oh."

"And I already trust you so much it scares the hell out of me. Just so you know."

"Oh." The hand on Clint's tightened. "Well, it's mutual. So you know."

"Oh. Good. Yeah. that's..." He smiled, tentatively, and Bruce returned it with interest.

"So, do you think..." Bruce said. "We could maybe go on a date?"

"A date? Like dinner and a movie?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Do we have to go out? I mean, could I maybe cook you dinner?"

"That sounds good. Neither of us are great with crowds."

"And we could watch Dog Cops? Everybody likes Dog Cops."

"True." They smiled at each other, and neither of them noticed Coulson emerging from the bathroom in yesterday's suit. He crossed the room, quietly opened the front door and walked out, pulling the door shut with a muted click behind him.

He didn't pause until he got outside into the fresh air.

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, the bricks rough against his back. He didn't know why he felt like he'd lost something. Clint was never his. Not really. That was just a lie they'd told themselves.

He allowed himself a ten count before he pulled himself together and walked away.

* * *

**Warnings: There's some dub-con here in the flashbacks, hints of past rape, present environment is safe. Also, very bad BDSM etiquette in the flashbacks.**


	6. Chapter 6

**This is the final chapter of this part. There will be a single chapter intermission and (hopefully) a multi-chap sequel.**

**Warning: this part is kind of porn like. It has a m/m sex scene and I am therefore rating it M. (Also, any feedback on that would be great, I always feel self concious writing sex).**

* * *

"Maybe you should get dressed," Bruce said, smiling. Clint looked down at himself and then back up at Bruce; he smirked.

"Or you could get undressed."

Bruce paused, then shook his head.

"No, we have things we need to talk about before we go any further."

"Haven't we done enough talking?" Clint pulled back, sliding his hand out from under Bruce's and leaning back in his chair.

"There are things you need to know before we do anything. Things about me."

"Like what?"

"Like sometimes the Other Guy shows up during sex. It happened the last time I was with Betty and I could have killed her."

"But you have better control now, right?"

"I haven't exactly practiced staying me in that particular situation," Bruce replied wryly. "But as near as I can tell, things are okay. I need to be in control though."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that when I'm in charge of a situation, when I know what's going on, when I know I'm safe, it's easier to stay myself. I think-and I am going to ask that our first time is at the Tower so JARVIS can monitor us and so you can get to back up if something does happen-that if I'm in control while we're having sex, then I'll stay myself."

"Okay. I think I get what you're saying. And it's relevant to my interests. But how in control are we talking?"

"I'd prefer to top, at least at first. Maybe once we've got used to each other we can try the other way around. And we're going to negotiate everything before we do anything. I need to know that I can stop at any time. That I can get up and walk away. I need to know that if I tell you to do something or not to do something, then you'll listen."

"And is that because of the Hulk?" There was a pause and Bruce looked away.

"Yes. But also because of me. I've always needed to be in control in those sorts of situations. Intimate situations. It makes it easier for me. Always has." He smiled, a little shyly. "I know it's a lot, and maybe-"

"I'm okay with that. Well, most of that. And I need the same things. Stop means stop and no means no. I... I'm not sure about you topping. I think we'd need to build up to that. And I might not... I don't know if I'll be able to..." he trailed off and hunched his shoulders, chewing on his lower lip.

"So we'll take it slow. Really slow. And we'll listen to each other." Bruce smiled, and Clint nodded. "Would you mind if I hugged you?" Bruce asked. Instead of answering, Clint just threw himself around the table at Bruce, holding him tight, and Bruce hugged him back hard.

* * *

Coulson went back to his Bus and his new team and moved on.

* * *

Their first date went... okay. Clint cooked, and they curled up on his couch and watched Dog Cops, just like they said they would. Well, actually, they didn't see much of Dog Cops. Instead, they indulged in a long, slow make out session. Clint had started it, tentatively leaning into Bruce and nuzzling against his neck. Bruce had chuckled and put his hand on Clint's thigh in response. They'd moved against each other, tasting and kissing and figuring each other out.

Clint didn't like it when Bruce loomed over him (or rather, he liked it too much and was terrified at the same time). Bruce didn't like it when Clint did something unexpected without warning him (he moved a hand across from Bruce's thigh to his groin, and Bruce drew in a sharp, quick breath and then gently moved Clint's hand back to where it had been). Clint liked having his neck kissed, and when Bruce asked if he could leave a mark, he said yes without thinking about it (which was good. If he'd thought about it, he would have tied himself in knots and worried about what it meant and if he was ready for people to see and whether he wanted a mark of ownership on his neck again). Bruce liked it when Clint went lax under him, which happened the first time he marked Clint's neck.

Neither of them liked it when they needed to stop, but it was necessary. Otherwise they'd push each other too far, too fast.

It wasn't perfect. They tripped over each other's boundaries more than once. The slow pace irritated them both, even as they knew it was essential. It scared Bruce how much trust Clint put in both him and the Other Guy. It scared Clint too.

But it worked.

* * *

"It's okay. We're going to help you. Trickshot sent us to take care of you." there were three of them, grown men, easily twice his size. And they were able bodied, but he was still in casts and he hadn't eaten or really slept in three days.

"Yeah, right. Because Trick cared about me, that's why he beat the crap out of me and dumped me on the street." He was backed into an alley, there was no way he was getting away.

"He said you were a good kid and a great shot." The spokesman moved forward, his hands raised submissively. "He didn't want you ending up dead because of a mistake."

"A mistake? They were stealing from the circus!" he was distracted, trying to watch them all at once and argue with the main guy. He wasn't sure which one moved first, but suddenly they were all on him, grabbing him, hurting him. He fought like an animal in a trap, but he knew he wasn't going to get away.

He woke up in a bedroom. It was warm and clean and he was in a bed. It was...nice. He tried to sit up, and that was when he realised he'd added to his injuries. His ribs, which had been sore before, were screaming at him and he felt dizzy and his head ached.

He decided not to leave the bed yet. He looked around the room as best he could, and he noticed the bars on the windows and the lack of handle on the door pretty quickly. Whoever had him meant to keep him.

* * *

The first time they had sex did not go well.

Clint tried to give too much, and then flinched and had to safe word out, even though they weren't doing anything strange or extreme. They hadn't even been trying to go all the way. When they started up again, they got further. Not very much further, but still...

Clint was so tense that Bruce struggled to even get one finger into him, and when he tried for two, Clint made a pained noise and tried to pull away. He was so scared and so desperate and it was so clear he wanted this, in spite of his fear... and that made Bruce so very angry. Not that Clint was scared, not because they had to stop (again), but because someone had made what should have been a wonderful loving experience for them both into something dark and twisted. Clint shouldn't be afraid when they were in bed together.

Bruce pulled back and tried to breathe, but he could feel himself slipping, and JARVIS spoke up warning them that Bruce's vitals were exceeding the safety limits.

Neither of them slept well. Bruce's dreams were tinged green and he smashed in his sleep, frustrated. Clint had nightmares of his early years and things done to him in the dark. The less said about that, the better.

It took a long time for them to work back up to sex.

The next time went better.

* * *

"Okay?"

"Yes. Please. Please."

"Okay, easy." Bruce brushed his fingers (the ones not inside Clint) through Clint's hair, reassuring. His other hand moved slowly and steadily, and he added a third finger. Clint's hands were twisted in the sheets, but he wasn't allowed to touch, he wasn't allowed to let go.

Bruce moved down Clint's body so he could look at where his fingers were moving, and at Clint's straining cock.

"You want this," Bruce said, his tone gentle and his voice soft. "You want me to do this. I'm here and you're here and we're doing this together."

"Please, Bruce. I need... I need..."

"What do you need?"

"More! Please!"

"Okay. You're ready. I'm here. I've got you." He pulled his fingers out, keeping up a reassuring mutter. "You're mine and I'm yours and we're here together. I've got you." He positioned himself and eased in slowly, then stopped for a moment, letting them both get used to the sensation. Then he pulled back until only the very tip of his cock was inside Clint and powered back in. The noise Clint made... it was... Bruce wanted to hear it again, so he pulled out. Slowly, slowly, then he rammed back in and that little mewl of sound was punched out of Clint again.

"So good for me, Clint. So good. You want this so much. I want this so much. I've got you, you're so good, I've got you."

"Please!"

They moved together, their hips snapping and their bodies rocking. Bruce closed his eyes and just kept going. It was perfect. It was everything. It was them.

Clint came untouched at a word from Bruce, and Bruce fucked him through it as Clint clenched down through his orgasm. Then he kept fucking him until he came too, panting and still talking.

"So good, Clint, so good for me." Bruce's whole body went limp, but he caught himself before his weight could fall on Clint. Clint didn't like to feel trapped. Or he did. But only sometimes and if he knew it was coming and if he knew who was doing the trapping. Clint was confused about feeling trapped.

They lay together, wrapped in each other's arms, stuck together with cum and sweat and lube.

"Okay?" Clint asked after a long moment, his voice slurred and fucked out.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Okay?" Clint repeated, his tone firmer.

"Yeah," Bruce said. "Okay. Better than okay. Good."

"Good."

"And you?"

Clint thought about it for a moment, knowing that Bruce wouldn't accept a flippant answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Good. Then let's shower."

* * *

They didn't live happily ever after because that's not the life they chose, but they are content. For a while anyway. There's always another crisis on the horizon and always something rocking the boat, but together? The two of them are unstoppable and they're happy for the first time in a very, very long time.

* * *

**Th-th-th that's all folks! For now...**


End file.
